Room D203
by Naimeria
Summary: A hospital visit, and the emotions therein.


_**Title:**_ Room D203

_**Author:**_ Naimeria

_**Warnings:**_ None, other than sadness.

_**Summary:**_ A hospital visit, and the emotions therein.

_**Author's Notes:**_ I'm writing this because I'm in a hospital right now, and I need to vent. I don't have a journal, and Dick is my muse.

Standard Disclaimer.

oOo

The whirring never stops.

It's a constant thing, a breathing creature at the foot of the bed. The long pole at the corner, all leads and lines, a crooked spider web. It's the brightest thing in the room, taunting as the sun shines off of it. The sink is next, and the trash cans. Around the perimeter are outlets, a chair, a window at the corner, and a person. In the middle is another. On a bed, the creature at his feet.

On and on, the mechanical breathing continues. He doesn't even know what machine is making the awful sound, but he knows he wants to leap at the spider and smash his fists through its boxes of technology. He doesn't, of course, and he doesn't really want to, because he knows they're helping.

Dick is sitting at the foot of the bed, doing nothing in particular. Staring at the patterns on the floor has become a hobby recently. He knows where every scuff and gouge is on the floor of this room.

D203. There is no sign out front, other than a number above the door, but there's one inside. A dry erase board, lined with the goals of the day and the names of the doctor and nurse assigned to him, hangs on the wall. At the top of the board, a name is drawn.

Bruce Wayne.

Dick stares at it again, then looks to the bed. Bruce lies there, sleeping, oblivious to the world. Good thing, too. It's hard for him to fall asleep through the pain.

He has to sneeze, so he presses his hand to his nose to keep from making any noise. It's a Godsend the mechanical whirring doesn't keep him awake as it is. Just as they seem to quiet, a random machine beeps, a shrill bird at he break of dawn. Bruce wakes, a glare on his features, and Dick waits for him to sleep again. He looks to Bruce now, his face relaxed in sleep. His eyes find the future scars and he shivers. The cuts go around his jaw and up the center of his chin, disappearing into his mouth. Though he can't see them, he knows there are other such cuts on his chest and arms.

It would've been different if this had happened to Batman, but car crashes are accidents, and accidents happen to everyone, even Bruce Wayne. So when the truck ran the red light and smashed into the side of Bruce's limo, everyone was shell-shocked. But none more than his adopted son.

He still sees the red, the bright cuts and bruises as he is wheeled from the OR to the ICU. He's unconscious, the stitches and staples red and irritated. His eyes are knit together in brief pain, and Dick cries for him.

And ever since then, Dick has been with him. Alfred stays often, and Bruce has had many rich visitors, dabbing at their eyes with linen handkerchiefs. He got some surprising visitors as well: one Selina Kyle, Commissioner Gordon, and several others. They came and went, and Dick stayed, watching.

The blue eyes stare at Bruce's closed lids, watching for lines of discomfort. He finds none. He exhales, then pulls out his phone. It had buzzed a few minutes ago, he remembers. A message from Artemis, a message from Kaldur, and three from Wally.

He reads them off slowly, mildly appreciates the words of comfort, but deep down it doesn't really help. Bruce is hurting and Dick can't do anything. He values that they're thinking of him and his father, but it doesn't change the fact that Bruce is in that bed, and Dick is just watching as the hours tick by.

It's another hour and twenty minutes before a machine's beeping wakes Bruce. Dick notices immediately, and straightens.

"Bruce?"

The man blinks, then looks at his son. Dick smiles, a reassurance, and Bruce tries his best to return the gesture. The stitches up his bottom lip and the pain restrict most of his movement, but he manages it well enough."Are you alright?" Dick asks. Bruce nods once, a small motion. "Need me to change the temp?" A shake of the head. "Need me to fix your pillows?" Another shake. Dick fidgets for a moment, before Bruce puts up a hand.

Dick moves to him and grabs it lightly. He can't help but stare at his throat, at the trach surrounded by blood and mucus. Tracheotomies are normal, but Dick was still unnerved by it. The scars on his upper chest were near the tube, disappearing beneath the gown. Bruce tried to cough once, a sort of snorting sound, and the trach bobbed up and down. Dick sat still not knowing what to do.

The cough passed, and Bruce swallowed, stitches shifting. Dick squeezed his hand harder, watching his father's dark eyes, and watched him try to smile once more. Dick smiled back, and Bruce's eyes slid closed. Soon the monitors around him showed Bruce had dozed off again.

Dick continued to stare, lip trembling and blue eyes wide. He would be strong for Bruce. Or he would try his hardest. He let the tears fall slowly, never making a sound.

oOo

This is kind of fucked up, sorry about that. I'm watching my dad sleep right now. And the machines keep on whirring.


End file.
